I am an ardent quail hunter and the pursuit has led me to be a lover of Brittanies.
My oldest dog Finn is pushing 13. His old bones and muscles are failing him and I knew this was his last season afield.
As I have done with every hunting dog I retire, I planned his last hunt. A short one along a very productive piece of quail cover. I was racing his mental decline. He gets lost easy, forgets what we are doing etc. Guess a dog’s version of dementia.
The hunt was an utter failure. He sat at the truck and watched me go about 200 yards alternately staring at the sky and at me. I went back hoping to coax him into one more go at it. It just didn’t happen and I returned to the house feeling defeated and cheated with a heavy heart.
Over the last 6 days I have been quail hunting with my favorite hunting friend. Took all 4 of my dogs. Finn and my 3 females one of which is a 5 month old pup.
On the second to last day my friend suggest we try Finn one more time before season ends hoping to catch a lucid moment.
We were on the way back to the trucks hunting along an irrigation ditch that borders a creek bottom. Finn is at my heel and all the sudden moves ahead of me and cuts to the left and over the edge of the ditch. I looked over the edge and he is locked up. He has never been flashy, just a solid, methodical hunter who doesn’t miss birds. I had to abandon my gun to flush the birds and let my buddy do the shooting. Finn continues down the side of the ditch and produces 3 more points and we manage to get 5 birds out of the action. Finn even found one of the shot birds the other dogs could not find.
This is Finn on the left making his first of hundreds of retrieves. He is barely a year old in this picture. He and I were both younger and full of energy. The dog on the right is Zach, my first Britt.
This is the last point of his career. There are three valley quail in front of his nose. This was a gift from the gods of the hunt who lord over those of us who hunt birds. They saw fit to allow me one last memory of valued companion doing what he loved.
The dog in the foreground is Gen, the dog who will take Finn’s place in the field next year. She is 5 months old and showing a lot of promise. Dog coming up from the creek is my friend’s 11 month old Britt.
I appreciate this forum humoring a sentimental old fool.
But I will leave the younger guys here with a lesson. Enjoy every minute of life with those you love and doing what you love. One day it ends and all you are left with is memories. Don’t waste a minute of life that can be shared with family, friends and a good bird dog. Take pictures, they may help to rekindle a very warm memory.
My oldest dog Finn is pushing 13. His old bones and muscles are failing him and I knew this was his last season afield.
As I have done with every hunting dog I retire, I planned his last hunt. A short one along a very productive piece of quail cover. I was racing his mental decline. He gets lost easy, forgets what we are doing etc. Guess a dog’s version of dementia.
The hunt was an utter failure. He sat at the truck and watched me go about 200 yards alternately staring at the sky and at me. I went back hoping to coax him into one more go at it. It just didn’t happen and I returned to the house feeling defeated and cheated with a heavy heart.
Over the last 6 days I have been quail hunting with my favorite hunting friend. Took all 4 of my dogs. Finn and my 3 females one of which is a 5 month old pup.
On the second to last day my friend suggest we try Finn one more time before season ends hoping to catch a lucid moment.
We were on the way back to the trucks hunting along an irrigation ditch that borders a creek bottom. Finn is at my heel and all the sudden moves ahead of me and cuts to the left and over the edge of the ditch. I looked over the edge and he is locked up. He has never been flashy, just a solid, methodical hunter who doesn’t miss birds. I had to abandon my gun to flush the birds and let my buddy do the shooting. Finn continues down the side of the ditch and produces 3 more points and we manage to get 5 birds out of the action. Finn even found one of the shot birds the other dogs could not find.
This is Finn on the left making his first of hundreds of retrieves. He is barely a year old in this picture. He and I were both younger and full of energy. The dog on the right is Zach, my first Britt.
This is the last point of his career. There are three valley quail in front of his nose. This was a gift from the gods of the hunt who lord over those of us who hunt birds. They saw fit to allow me one last memory of valued companion doing what he loved.
The dog in the foreground is Gen, the dog who will take Finn’s place in the field next year. She is 5 months old and showing a lot of promise. Dog coming up from the creek is my friend’s 11 month old Britt.
I appreciate this forum humoring a sentimental old fool.
But I will leave the younger guys here with a lesson. Enjoy every minute of life with those you love and doing what you love. One day it ends and all you are left with is memories. Don’t waste a minute of life that can be shared with family, friends and a good bird dog. Take pictures, they may help to rekindle a very warm memory.
